


Friends in Odd Places

by trillian_jdc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Country & Western, Dancing, M/M, Romance on the Dance Floor, Wedding Reception, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: Greg Lestrade isn't enjoying his cousins' Texas-themed wedding reception, but bumping into a surprisingly talented Mycroft Holmes might make it bearable.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 25
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

Greg Lestrade didn't know which was worse -- the mediocre hotel ballroom his second cousins had chosen for their wedding reception, stuck in the middle of nowhere, or the theme they had selected. Who at this point in the world and the century would think that "Texas country" was a good idea? 

But the cousins were fascinated with America, which meant he was stuck here listening to country music, complete with line dancing. And marveling at the many ways you could turn cowboy hats into decorations. There was only so long he could keep the polite smile plastered to his face. 

He wouldn't have bothered to come, but there weren't many chances these days to see family, loony as they might be. Still, much as he appreciated the idea of keeping in touch, the reality wasn't living up to his good intentions. He just didn't have a good track record at wedding receptions, he guessed. He hadn't yet reached the point of wishing for Sherlock Holmes to appear, rattle off his supercilious deductions, and solve a murder, but it was a close thing. 

Maybe the relatives wouldn't notice if he snuck out to the hotel bar. The only time anyone spoke to him, anyway, was to ask how his ex-wife was. Clearly the news hadn't spread as well as he'd hoped, which meant his evening had been spent being reminded of his biggest romantic failure. 

When the well-meaning were told he was single, their invariable response was to suggest a nice woman they knew. Their cheerful pity made him itch. He wanted something different, something to shake up the routine that made him feel smothered under a grey blanket of melancholy. 

A drink at the bar wasn't going to help his mood, but it was something different, for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hearing Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places" reminded me of the Blue Bonnet Palace outside San Antonio, Texas, and how much fun two-stepping could be. Things will pick up for Greg shortly; stay tuned.


	2. Chapter 2

Be careful what you wish for, Greg thought. Different he wanted, different he got. Who would have expected to find Mycroft Holmes in a budget hotel bar? Although at the clip he was moving towards the door, he wouldn't be here long. Couldn't hurt to ask. Before he could stop himself, Greg hopped off his bar stool and was calling out. 

"Mr. Holmes? What are you doing here?" 

Mycroft paused, halting his stride, then gracefully turned to face Greg, with no sign of surprise on his polished facade. "Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade, always a delight. Although I should be perturbed that you may have unwittingly defeated our security protocols. I presume that you are here for some reason other than work?"

"Cousin's wedding reception." 

Mycroft, without seeming to do so, closely observed the normally bold policeman, noting his subdued manner. "I would have expected more celebration. Aren't these occasions generally observed in a dedicated room?" 

Greg snorted and waved over his shoulder. "It's back that way. 'm afraid that the party isn't as much fun as these things used to be. I'm playing hooky. Everyone there has someone, and I'm tired of being fixed up. Specially now it's all dancing." He shook himself slightly and refocused to the man in front of him. "But you haven't answered my question. I'm not so far yet that my memory's gone. 's still a goal for later, after a few more pints." 

"Ah," Mycroft responded, "I'm afraid I can't go into detail, but the assumption was made that no one expects anything important to happen in a mid-priced hotel conference room." 

"True enough, I s'pose," Greg acknowledged. "And it's a pleasant surprise to see someone else I know. Can I tempt you to a drink? It helps block the twanging guitar sound." 

"Is your reception the source of that noise? I can't say I'm a fan. It's been quite a while since I've had to visit Texas. I never understood their fascination with hats and boots," Mycroft mused.

"Says the man who fancies waistcoats and a brolly." Greg grinned as Mycroft cut a sharp look his way. "Maybe not a drink, then. If you're willing to crash the party, there's quite the dessert buffet. Including cake pops." 

"Cake... pops? Do they detonate?" Mycroft clearly wasn't familiar with the trendy treats. 

"C'mon, I'll show you. They're overly sweet, heavily iced bites on sticks." Greg grabbed Mycroft's wrist and dragged him back into the reception. If he'd stopped to think, he would have marveled at his daring in even touching Mycroft, but his mind was elsewhere. Maybe the celebratory atmosphere had had more positive effect on him than he'd suspected.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft tutted, righted himself from a moment being unbalanced, and followed Greg, brolly swinging. This might be quite entertaining, he thought to himself. He knew the Detective Inspector was a man of action, but the politician hadn't expected to be touched or tugged at. The feeling was pleasurable, and he enjoyed the possibility of being caught up in a social event with the handsome Lestrade. Their brief past encounters qualified them as acquaintances, but there hadn't previously been much excuse to spend any more time together than it took to verify that Sherlock wasn't in or causing mortal danger. 

Greg had led the pair to seating at the back of the room, which was mostly deserted. Many of the guests were on the dance floor, and those who weren't had started circling the drinks and dessert tables. Greg gestured Mycroft towards a seat, saying, "I'll grab us a few samples." 

Mycroft tried to demur, "I really shouldn't," but Greg had already headed towards the sweets. Mycroft resigned himself to wait, seating himself in a quiet corner. His eyes tracked Greg across the room, but the silver-haired man didn't make it to his destination, as a pushy relative (an aunt who'd had one too many tequila sunrises, judging from the dregs left in the glass in her hand and her overly friendly manner) draped herself across Greg's shoulder and maneuvered him towards the dance floor. 

A twangy, low voice came over the sound system, as the DJ put a new song on. Something about "blaming roots" and "ruining a black-tie affair". The dance was not Greg's forte, it seemed. Mycroft internally winced, as he watched Greg stumbling over his feet. The beat of the country-western tune was strong, but Lestrade had to keep backing up from his clingy partner, which wasn't helping his sense of rhythm. She didn't seem to mind, laughing loudly and sloppily hanging from his arms. 

As it became painful to watch, Mycroft couldn't tolerate Greg's discomfort any longer. He stood up, propped his umbrella against his chair, and strode to intercept the dancing couple. Deftly inserting himself between the two, he swept Greg into a tight hold. Mycroft took Greg's right hand in his left and firmly placed his right under Greg's shoulder blade. "Oh, good lord, I know you have more rhythm than that," he muttered to his surprised partner. "It's not that complicated. Eyes on me, Gregory, and follow my lead. Step right, together, left, together, back, back, and repeat." 

The use of his formal name snapped Greg to attention, as Mycroft had intended, and in the reassuring circle of Mycroft's arms, he finally relaxed enough to follow along. As Greg's previous partner, left at the side of the dance floor, blinked slowly at them, Mycroft competently steered them around the parquet and between the other couples, many of whom were simply swaying in place. 

Even though he was moving backwards, Greg was surprised to find himself enjoying the dance without having to think about it. He finally felt that he could do this without worrying about anyone watching, although the dashing, well-dressed stranger dancing with him was beginning to garner the family's attention. And Mycroft was easy to follow, enough so that he could chat as well as move with him. 

After he got his open mouth back under control, Greg asked, "How do you know how to do this?" 

"They may call it a two-step, but it's a fox trot variant. And really, how hard can a dance be when it's designed for a drunk cowboy to execute without having to lift his feet or put down his beer bottle?" Mycroft rationalized on the fly, as he didn't want to mention his parents' line dancing hobby or just how many country-and-western dance steps he was familiar with. Some secrets were better left for closer acquaintance. 

Greg laughed, which sounded wonderful. Mycroft wanted to make him do it again. As the two moved together, Mycroft realized how intimate dancing could feel with the right person. They were in the middle of a crowd, but nothing mattered but the two of them, sharing a joke, bodies close together. 

The song, "Friends in Low Places", came to an end all too quickly, with movement on the dance floor stopping as various family members drunkenly sung along to the chorus. Others were starting to approach the pair. Mycroft suspected he was soon in for a number of rounds of "introduce us to your friend, Greggy", which wouldn't do either of them any good. 

The DJ had apparently been paying more attention than Mycroft gave him credit for, as the next song was something newer and poppier. The pronouns were wrong, but the lyrics were surprisingly apropos, as the song ran

"Don't you dare look back  
Just keep your eyes on me  
I said you're holding back  
She said shut up and dance with me" 

Feeling suddenly playful, Mycroft spun Greg out and back, enjoying the shocked look of enjoyment on his partner's face.


	4. Chapter 4

Not many people ever successfully manhandled Greg Lestrade. His decades of police experience gave him a grounded presence and experience knowing how to plant himself and resist others trying to move him. This, though, was different. This was him letting someone else take the lead and not having to do anything but respond. It was new, but comfortable. Even beyond the pleasure of having the hands of someone attractive on him, he began to hope he could find a way for it to continue. 

He had been pleasantly shocked when Mycroft had cut in and swept him away, and even more pleased when Mycroft managed to make it look like Greg knew what he was doing. As the pop song continued, Mycroft steered them back towards where they were previously sitting before dropping contact and stepping away, a polite, professional smile on his face. He began to apologize for cutting in, but Greg interrupted.

"How'd you do that, Mycroft? Make me look like a great dancer?"

"Partner dancing only requires a firm hand and a willingness to work together." Mycroft hesitated before continuing. "You follow beautifully. Quite a natural."

"Well, you're an amazing teacher, then. Thanks. At least we gave the family something to talk about." Greg looked away for a moment, then winced. "Speaking of, prepare for incoming. 'm sorry in advance." 

Greg plastered another polite smile on his face as Aunt Edna bore down on them. He held out his hands in an attempt to strong-arm her into keeping her distance, but it was no use, as she went right for his cheeks, kissing each. "Greggy! It's been ages! Who's your friend, and where's the wife?"

Greg flinched. "Ex-wife, has been for years, and this is Mr. Holmes, a ... work colleague of mine. Mycroft, this is my aunt, Edna Cooper." 

Mycroft deftly reached behind himself, scooped up his umbrella, and placed it in front, both hands on the handle, conveniently fending off her attempted attack on his person. "Charmed." Always ready with party manners, and appropriately blockaded, he extended a hand and shook hers firmly. 

Edna was determinedly interested in Mycroft's appearance at the party, particularly given his elegant three-piece suit, which she eyed up and down. "How is it that you know our Greg?"

Greg jumped in. "I work with his brother, most of the time. We didn't realize we had events at the same location today."

Edna, in the well-meaning pushiness of older relatives everywhere, was not to be dissuaded. "You must know each other better than that. I saw that dance! You move well together. And you know what they say about dancing and vertical expression."

Mycroft looked puzzled as Greg cringed, quickly saying, "I prefer the one about nobody watching." 

Edna looked back and forth between the two of them. "Alright, I can take a hint. You boys get back to your conversation, then. Pleasure, Mr. Holmes." She winked at him before leaving. 

He stared in her direction, blinked for a moment, slightly shook his head, as if to clear it, and turned back to Greg, saying, "Much as I recognize I am leaving you to the wolves, I really should be leaving." 

"I appreciate you coming in with me at all." Greg aimed the first wide, honest smile he'd had at the party at the taller man. "And I'll forgive you, so long as you keep calling me Greg." 

"Very well, Gregory," Mycroft volleyed, smirking. 

"Close enough. Thanks for a fabulous dance, Mycroft. I haven't felt that graceful in a long while. I owe you one. It's no fun going stag all the time." Internally, Greg thought about that statement a bit more, then swallowed and decided to push them both a bit out of their comfort zones. "Let me know if you ever need a partner at a social event. I'd be glad to return the favor."

Mycroft went quiet, temporarily speechless, thinking of how much more interesting an embassy reception would be with Greg sparkling at him. As the silence grew between them, Greg misunderstood, his face falling. "Oh. Never mind. Silly of me to think you'd want to see a grey copper at one of your posh dos."

"Oh, no, Gregory, again, I apologize." Mycroft hurried to reassure him. "I was distracted by the thought. It would be a pleasant change to have a compatriot, although my social events are few and far between. Most of my evening engagements are working affairs." 

"Well, keep me in mind, anyway." Greg realized he'd seen all the relatives he'd cared to, and Mycroft was a better match for his mood. "Walk you out? I think I'm done here." 

The two men headed for the car park together, continuing to chat, unaware of how many gossipy questions and curious eyes they left in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, and thank you for your patience. I have learned my lesson, to have the end in mind before you start writing. You may be pleased to know that there is a conclusion now, and it won't take that final chapter four months to appear.


End file.
